Wicked Grace
by Rachel Noelle
Summary: After a night at the Hanged Man changed their lives for the better, the Merry Band of Misfits struggle to balance a battle-torn Kirkwall between the Mages and the Chantry. Viscount Hawke has a new solution to try, but the barriers in her way may not be as horrible as they first seem.


_This is set post DA2, with a completely non-canon ending. So far my ending says Anders didn't blow up the chantry (though it is gone), but the war between the mages and Templars is raging. Hawke is viscount, and the only thing keeping the city from falling apart at the seams. She sided with the innocents, be they mage or Templar, and this chapter begins about a year after the battle of Kirkwall (around four months after the prologue). _

_A million and one thanks to my beta for this, Enchantm3nt, for all of her hard work and for putting up with my thousands of questions. 8-)_

_Thanks for reading! Enjoy!  
-Rachel Noelle  
_

**oOoOo—RN—oOoOo**

Hawke was lying on a cot in Anders' clinic, finally conscious and playfully arguing the mechanics of the recent battle with the group of slavers that had felled her. It must have been the straw that broke the camel's back (an earlier battle not helping her stamina) or she was in the early stages of an illness, as the otherwise simple battle found her collapsing into a heap on the floor. Isabela and Merrill had accompanied her for this job, and Isabela had tipped Varric's urchin heavily when he had gone and returned with the healer without being asked.

"Hawke, what happened? You were standing right beside me when all of a sudden you were lying on the floor. You gave me quite a fright," Merrill asked her friend with concern.

Hawke smiled up at the elven mage, propping her hands behind her head for a small measure of additional comfort on the cot. "Oh, you know, I guess slaying that dragon last week finally caught up to me," she chuckled.

"That was the weakest retort I've ever heard from you," Isabela chided, patting her friend's head soothingly.

"It was awful, wasn't it?" Hawke agreed. "Maybe it's the Antivan Bird Flu, Merrill; I hear it's been going around."

Anders chuckled as he approached the cot. "I don't think it is anything so fanciful, but you are ill and you will need rest. I'm sure Isabela and Merrill don't mind leaving you in my care for a bit. I want to check for more symptoms before I release you back to the hounds again," he said, smiling benignly.

Isabela grudgingly took the hint, grousing about the healer and the fact that Hawke was a big girl and could choose her company. Anders rolled his eyes as the two women left, Merrill as clueless as always and Isabela declaring she would be getting compensation for the urchin's tip.

After the others were safely out of earshot, Anders turned to face Hawke, a half smirk on his lips. "I'd ask when you planned to tell him, but I don't think you even know yourself," he began, setting Hawke's nerves on edge.

"Tell who what? What don't I know?" she asked nervously.

"Tell Varric that you are expecting," Anders said simply, smiling openly now.

"Expecting what?" Hawke asked, still clueless. Anders wanted to smack her head. Hard. Either she was in denial or she really had not put the pieces together yet.

"Everyone's favorite dwarf is going to be a father. You're pregnant, Marian," Anders elaborated, a hand on her shoulder intended to be soothing.

Hawke bolted upright, startling Anders badly with a short scream. "What?!"

Anders wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug as Hawke sobbed into his shoulder. "I knew something was wrong," she said, her tears slowly becoming amusement, "I should have guessed this much…"

Anders held her tightly for a long moment, rubbing a hand on her back in soothing circles, offering her all the comfort he could. Hawke surprised him when she next spoke.

"How do you know it's Varric's? I mean, you're right of course, but is there some way you can tell specifically who the father is?"

Anders shook his head. "Not normally, no. But the magical signature, or in this case severe lack thereof, matches our good friend and storyteller to a tee. And I only know that from healing him so often these last years. That and the fact that we all knew there was more to that winning kiss the night we played Wicked Grace with new rules," Anders winked and flashed Hawke a wicked half smile.

Hawke grinned despite herself. The night which Anders spoke of was still fresh in her mind. Isabela was crazy and far too nosy for her own good sometimes, but she was also good at reading people. A few rounds of Wicked Grace, several drunken dares, and a round of kisses to make whores blush ensued, skillfully crafted by the hands of a pirate vixen who could sniff out sexual attraction like dogs smelled food. Isabela had accomplished what neither Hawke nor Varric could seem to do on their own. After a night of pleasure at the dwarf's hands, Hawke swore she would never take another as long as he breathed.

"More than one relationship blossomed from that, apparently," Hawke chortled, pointing a finger at the Vael crest Anders sported on his cloak.

"Sebastian is a very persuasive man. He even renounced his chastity vows. I was shocked same as everyone else," Anders explained, smiling with a light blush decorating his face.

He contemplated a moment later, a bemused smile on his face and twinkle in his eye, "This explains why you nearly took the head off the Seneschal at the last meeting I attended with you and Cullen. Although Seneschal Bran was a complete ass that day, too, like he always is." He and Hawke shared a laugh.

A comfortable silence fell over the room, during which Hawke began to reflect upon the options before her. A thought crossed her mind and she worriedly voiced it, struggling to keep the fear from her voice, "Do you think Varric will be happy about this? I don't know what I'll do if he isn't. I know this is hardly a good time for children, but I don't know that I could bear to lose him or the baby…" Hawke sighed sadly.

"Would you like me to go with you to tell him?" Anders asked. Hawke bit her lip hard before nodding.

"Maybe you could just stand guard downstairs, in case I need some support," she suggested.

Anders agreed. "Let me get my assistants lined out with the other patients, who you miraculously didn't disturb, and we can go now if you're ready."

Hawke sighed again, nerves setting her stomach uneasy, the bile threatening to rise in her throat. "Now is as good as ever, isn't it?"

The trip to the Hanged Man was longer and more tiresome than Hawke ever remembered it being. She clutched Anders' hand tightly for support as they walked from Darktown.

"Hawke, you're going to break my fingers if you don't ease up," Anders lamented as they crossed the threshold. "It's going to be alright."

Hawke eased her grip. "I know. I'm just nervous about telling Varric. I don't know if he'll be okay with this or not…"

"If it has to do with what I'm seeing being interpreted as it looks, then, no, I'm not going to be okay with this," Varric said, crossing his arms in amusement, his eyes glinting with equal parts entertainment and concern.

"Oh, Varric," Hawke greeted her dwarf with a kiss, "It certainly isn't that. Did you really think I could be so cruel as to abandon my favorite dwarf?"

Varric laughed. "When you get technical, I'm your only dwarf."

Hawke rolled her eyes playfully. "Spoilsport."

"So, Beautiful, what's going on? Why is Blondie here with you?" Varric asked, taking Hawke's hand and leading her upstairs.

Anders and Hawke exchanged a look before Hawke let herself be led away.

"You should probably sit down, Varric," Hawke suggested when they closed the door to his room.

Varric grinned characteristically, taking a seat in his favorite chair and pulling Hawke down with him. "I'm sitting. Does this have something to do with you passing out earlier?" he asked.

Hawke chuckled darkly. Of course he would have known; if not from his urchins, then from Isabela demanding compensation. "Sort of. Anders said it was the reason I passed out."

Varric nodded contemplatively. "Is it the Antivan Bird Flu? Because as much as I love you, you'll have to stay away. That shit's highly contagious."

Hawke laughed happily. "No, it isn't that." Then she hesitated.

"Hawke, you can tell me anything. Is everything alright?" Varric asked, his concern growing by the minute.

"That depends," Hawke stated. At his questioning look she added, "It depends on you."

"I'm waiting," Varric told her, spreading his arms in an open gesture.

Hawke's alarmed call of "Anders!" brought the mage bolting up the stairs into Varric's suite in a panic. He had expected an exclamation from the dwarf and was ready to intervene should he suspect any undo violence or denial, but the scene that unfolded before him made it impossible not to laugh loudly.

"Anders, what do I do?" Hawke asked, her voice panicked. Varric was sprawled awkwardly on the floor of his suite, an obvious knot already forming on his head.

Thinking quickly, and to help calm Hawke, Anders replied, "Go get two ales from Corff. Tell him we want the good stuff." Hawke disappeared out the door in a flash while Anders set to work rousing his new patient.

Varric began to come to and placed a hand on the back of his head, rubbing soothingly. Anders helped him to lie down and started with a simple healing spell to relieve the pain and swelling. "How did this even happen?" Varric muttered to himself.

"Well, Varric, when a mommy human and a daddy dwarf really love each other…" Anders began, smirking.

"Oh, shut up, you flying sack of nug shit," Varric intoned crossly. "I know that. I just didn't think…"

"No, you were thinking, just with the wrong head," Hawke flirted.

"Better watch what you say. These kinds of jokes are what got us into this situation in the first place, Beautiful," Varric told her, his silver tongue and quick wit slowly returning. "Not that I'm complaining, of course," he shrugged. Hawke moved to sit by Varric on the bed, carrying the two mugs of ale. "Just wasn't expecting that kind of news anytime soon."

"Ah, look, ale's here," Anders said, taking one of the mugs from Hawke.

Varric sat up, pushing Anders' arm out of the way as he did. "I'm okay, Blondie. Thanks for your help."

He took the other mug of ale from Hawke, leaving her looking confused. "Where's mine?" she asked.

Varric and Anders shared a laugh. "None for you, sorry," Anders said apologetically, "You have precious cargo you're carrying now, so no more alcohol."

Hawke's face fell and she laid back on the pillows in exasperation. Varric chuckled again and raised his mug. "A toast," he declared, clinking mugs with Anders, "to the good news and a beautiful woman to share it with." He and Anders drank deeply from their mugs in celebration.

There was some chatting between the three of them, Anders already preparing Hawke a schedule for visits and going over the dos and don'ts of maternity. The soothing sounds of her lover and a dear friend conversing lulled Hawke into a light sleep. She roused some time later to find Varric working at his table, papers scattered about with seeming abandon. Varric wore his spectacles, something Hawke found him to be incredibly attractive in, and was perusing what looked like a long list of supply requests.

"Did you enjoy your rest?" Varric asked causally, glancing up at his lover's form as she sat upright.

Hawke smiled softly. "I did, thank you for asking, Ser Dwarf," she replied, a faux air of pretentious noble saturating her voice.

Varric grinned. "This came for you while you were sleeping," he said, holding out a rolled letter with the seal of the Viscount's office stamped onto it.

Hawke groaned audibly. "Today is supposed to be my day off. That's what the Seneschal is there for, isn't it?" She grudgingly took the letter, frowning at Varric as he laughed at her displeasure, and rolled it open to read. Her brows furrowed in distaste.

"Let me guess," Varric began, knowing the look on Hawke's face well, "It's another invitation to a snooty noble party with fine wine and stinky cheese, all in hopes of your favor in some endeavor some noble wants to undertake?"

Hawke barked a humorless laugh. "Isn't it always?" she bemoaned. She sighed wearily. "If you're not busy with Guild meetings Thursday evening, you can go with me. Otherwise I could ask Anders," she said, trying to give her dwarven companion an out.

Varric chuckled. "I'm not the one who hates the noble parties. Free fancy food is fine by me any time at all. But if you want to have someone else escort you, be my guest. I trust you," he told her, shrugging slightly.

Hawke feigned hurt, dramatically putting a hand over her heart with a flourish, "Ser Dwarf, you wound me! In my delicate condition, I cannot believe that you would dare entrust my wellbeing to another!"

Varric removed his spectacles, carefully resting them on the table, before pulling Hawke down into his lap and silencing her giggles with a kiss. "Okay, fine. You win. You know I hate these things as much as you do, but I'll go," he relented.

The next morning found Hawke at the large desk in the Viscount's office, scribbling away at some missive or other, frowning to herself. She really hated working with the nobles some days. But, the promise of change on the horizon for the oppressed and altogether less fortunate was always enough to keep her going.

Even with the war raging, Kirkwall miraculously remained a safe haven for those trying to escape anything and everything. She got her wish of becoming Viscount, and together with Guard Captain Aveline, the new Knight-Commander Cullen, and now First Enchanter Bethany, they were struggling (and hopefully succeeding) to create balance in the city, and, by extension, the rest of Thedas. Hawke dreamed of creating a place where mages could be trained openly, without being ripped from their homes in early childhood. The gallows would become a school, not a prison. Already several had taken to the idea and volunteered their services.

"Viscount Hawke," a disapproving voice spoke from the doorway, "There is a Cassandra Pentaghast to see you, at your leisure."

Hawke's head snapped up to stare at Seneschal Bran in shock. "Why is the Seeker here? I wasn't expecting her for two weeks yet," Hawke replied, panicking.

"She said only that it was a private matter, and she wishes to discuss it with you personally," the Seneschal said, giving her a tightlipped smile. Hawke had yet to decide if it was his job or just her he hated so dearly. Until she had been in her position at least a full year, she could not appoint another person for the job. He might be an ass most days, but at least he did know what he was doing, and she figured she would let him stay on as long as he wished on those grounds alone.

"Very well," she sighed, rubbing her forehead, "Send her in."

Bran nodded once before departing. Hawke sat ungracefully in her chair, absently looking over the next ridiculous request in her paperwork when the door opened again.

"Lady Hawke," Cassandra greeted politely, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Hawke stood to greet her visitor. "The same. How was your trip?" Hawke asked by way of conversation.

"Bearable," Cassandra said, smiling slightly. "We did not encounter much trouble."

Hawke suppressed a sigh. Apparently the Seeker was one for getting straight to the point, and not bullshitting around. Hawke mused about her meeting Varric, and how horrible and hilarious it might be. "That is good. So, what brings you here two weeks early?" Hawke asked. She indicated the chair opposite her own for Cassandra to sit.

The Seeker obliged and sat with much more grace and poise than Hawke usually bothered to muster. "I wish to discuss the matter of your school for mages, and the Chantry's stance on it."

Hawke knew her face betrayed her shock. It was not necessarily that she expected support from the Chantry, but the idea that the Divine might already have taken a vicious stance against the new age ideas she and others had already worked so hard to instill in Kirkwall pained her greatly. "I know the Chantry will not support my ideas," Hawke began saying defensively, "but I intend to implement them anyway. There is nothing written in the Chant that specifically states that the only option for mages is to be locked away from childhood and guarded like criminals."

Cassandra nodded, a small smile gracing her face. "Indeed, Ser Hawke, you are correct. And in light of the revolution which is playing upon our hands, the Divine would like to offer her support. Unofficially, of course. It is a very difficult thing you seek to do, changing the minds of all the nations of Thedas. It will not be a battle won overnight."

Hawke could not resist her grin. "Seeker, are you serious? With her help, we could possibly make this work without any Exalted Marches or Rights of Annulment."

"Indeed. I speak only the truth. There will, however, be certain stipulations," Cassandra elaborated, this statement making Hawke frown. Of course it would never be as simple as just trusting someone else to do something right.

"What are these stipulations?" Hawke asked, wary.

"She wishes to station some… agents in Kirkwall to assist with the restructuring." Cassandra looked pensively at Hawke, and Hawke wondered just what the Seeker thought of things.

"Just who are these agents?" Hawke asked, her tone guarded and unintentionally cross.

"Myself and Sister Nightingale. We are the Divine's Right and Left hands, and she believes it only fitting we be involved. If your plan works in your favor, we will take the methods and ideas to elsewhere in Thedas on your behalf."

"And if it doesn't?" Hawke asked, knowing the answer would be unpleasant.

Cassandra sighed. "It must." Her voice was pleading, but with Hawke, the Maker, or fate itself Hawke was not sure. Cassandra turned to face Hawke, her eyes resolute and hopeful. "If it does not, there will be action against Kirkwall, and all of the Circles will be destroyed, lost to the Right of Annulment. Mages will be killed when their skills are realized, not just whisked away from their mother's skirts. Surely even something as horrible as imprisonment is not a fate worse than holocaust?"

"Let me guess," Hawke returned, her expression foul, "This will also be the result if I don't let her Holiness' agents overtake my carefully laid plans?" Cassandra looked stricken and pale. "That's what I feared," Hawke lamented. "I will need time to discuss matters with my committee. Many of them will not take lightly to this idea."

"I understand. That is why I wished to speak with you early, so that you may prepare your answer, and your terms, ahead of time," the Seeker said, her eyes saddened. "I do not necessarily approve of her methods, but I wish even less to see this city fall."

Hawke nodded contemplatively. "Very well. I will think on it. Is there anything else?"

"That is all, Champion," Cassandra stated, nodding to Hawke as she stood to take her leave.

Hawke sighed. Feeling a need to offer her friendship – if she was going to be forced to work with her one way or another – she called to Cassandra before she crossed the threshold, "You should stop by the Hanged Man this evening. Plenty of booze, and always at least one good story to be heard."

"Thank you," the Seeker replied kindly, "Perhaps." With that the door to the Viscount's office closed with a heavy thud.

Hawke slumped back into her chair, sighing heavily.

**oOoOo**

"Varric!" Hawke called loudly as she made her way up the stairs to his suite. Why she could not seem to get him to leave the place and just move in with her she did not quite know, but she tried to not complain, as she saw the little tavern as a second home herself. She let herself into Varric's suite without knocking, only to find it empty. Her brows knit together in confusion. Where was her dear dwarf?

She waited several minutes before deciding he must be at some meeting with the Merchant's Guild, or out making sure his spy network and the urchins he kept hired were being duly compensated. Hawke scribbled a note for him to come to her estate and used the little dagger-shaped pin he had purchased for such an occasion to secure it to his table at the spot where he always sat.

Finding herself with ample time to kill, Hawke made her way to the Gallows, where Bethany spent her days. Her sister would want to be the first to know about the Divine's proposition – or, more apropos, ultimatum – for them anyway. Bethany wanted as much as anyone to be able to turn the Circle into a place of education for mages and non-mages alike, to instill feelings of acceptance between both those born with magical power and those without. Especially between the Templars and Mages.

Hawke let herself into the Gallows, the Templars stationed there greeting her pleasantly. She slowly wound her way into the long hallway of offices to find no one around. Smiling to herself, and remembering Bethany's love of afternoon reading, she backtracked and went the other way to the mages' sleeping quarters. When she reached Bethany's room, the only thing she thought could make the moment more perfect would be to have Varric standing at her side, adding his witty commentary to the present situation.

"Well, I see you two are making good progress on inspiring acceptance between mages and Templars," she said, smirking as Bethany and Cullen started, moving apart hastily.

"This is not what it looks like, Sister," Bethany assured her. The blush on the younger Hawke sister's face said otherwise.

Hawke shrugged. "Who am I to judge? I'm with Varric. I think I can speak on neither character nor profession." Her smile softened when Bethany smiled as well.

"I must ask you not to spread word of our… encounter around just yet," Cullen said, looking like he knew the battle to already be lost.

"Oh, Cullen, she was going to find out eventually. I thought you were okay with this?" Bethany asked, looking hurt. Cullen looked properly chastised.

"I am, Beth. I only worry about her friend's tongue, and the rumors that will spread," he said concernedly.

"Don't worry about Varric. I'll just make him an offer he can't refuse if I suspect him of talking you up or anything," Hawke assured them, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Sister!" Bethany admonished, knowing the innuendo for what it was. Hawke laughed as both the mage and the Templar blushed again. "Cullen, may I have some time with my sister, alone?" Bethany asked softly.

Cullen dipped his head then placed a soft kiss on the mage's lips before leaving.

"So how long has this been going on?" Hawke asked, very curious and insanely happy for the both of them.

"Only about a month. We're both still so very new to this," Bethany explained. "Though you've no doubt got some interesting details for Varric to use against me now, I suspect that is not the reason you came by."

Hawke nodded in agreement. "Not quite. I was unaware of something this sinister going on. Even Varric couldn't have seen this coming," she smirked. After a brief pause, and taking a small pleasure in tormenting her younger sister even now, she continued, "The Seeker came to see me today. She said that the Divine wants to unofficially support our cause."

"Oh?" was all Bethany could say.

Hawke smiled grimly. "She really didn't leave me much option, it would seem. However, the Seeker did say she was giving me two weeks to draw up an agreement before our official meeting."

"I suppose we should get started then," Bethany replied, sighing softly as she took a seat in a lounge chair in the small suite. Hawke sat on the sofa, fighting the urge to splay out on it and take a nap. She yawned, which Bethany noted absently, before she and her sister launched into a lengthy discussion on the situation at hand.

Sometime later Hawke stood to stretch. It was nearing supper time, and she could smell the aroma of food faintly wafting down the hall. "Something smells delicious. I've had the weirdest craving for the mystery meat stew at the Hanged Man all day today…" she trailed off.

Bethany gave her sister a quizzical look. "Are you feeling well?" she asked, smiling teasingly.

"Yes, I'm feeling fine. Why do you ask?" Hawke replied.

Bethany shrugged. "I heard you gave Merrill and Isabela quite the scare yesterday. Even had Varric in a panic."

"Oh, that…" Hawke grinned innocently. She debated on whether to share the news or not. She and Varric had not yet discussed the relaying of such information to their group of friends. She finally decided that she could trust Bethany to be quiet until such a time as they decided to make the news public and said, "Well, I do have good news. But it is for your ears only."

Bethany's face broke out into a wide grin. "Good news? What might that be? Are you getting married?"

Hawke laughed. "Not quite. You, however, are going to make a fine aunt in a few months' time."

Bethany squealed with delight and hugged her sister. "Oh, Marian, I am so happy for you! Is that why Varric was fretting so yesterday?"

It was Hawke's turn to shrug. "Anders seems to think so. I _am_ easily tired of late. So, probably."

"I should have known," Bethany amusedly chastised herself, "You have been acting a bit strange the last few weeks. How far along are you?"

"About ten weeks, according to my last menses," Hawke said, smiling all over again. "Bethany, I wish you would have been there when I told Varric. He scared me quite thoroughly when he fainted. Poor Anders came rushing upstairs with his staff ready for a paralysis spell, then nearly keeled over himself laughing so hard."

Bethany giggled, imaging Varric's reaction. "He is obviously quite excited, then?" Hawke nodded enthusiastically, and Bethany hugged her again. "I just wish Mother and Father and Carver were still here. Carver would be so excited, and can you imagine the smile on Mother's face?"

Hawke returned Bethany's sad smile, hugging her sister tighter still. "That would be lovely. But now isn't the time for sadness. A new life is on the way."

"I hope it's a girl!" Bethany said excitedly, "Then I can dress her up in fancy gowns, and teach her to dance. This is so exciting!"

Hawke laughed. "I hope she has Varric's hazel eyes and wry sense of humor," she smiled brightly.

"Ooh! I hope she has pretty long hair, like yours. It looks so lovely when you let it grow out."

"I don't know," Hawke shrugged, "Varric's hair is so soft and silky…"

"What if it's a boy?" Bethany asked.

Hawke bit her lip in concentration. "Hmm… I suppose I would love a son just as much as a daughter. I wonder if they'll have magic, or if the natural dwarven resistance is just too much to overcome?"

Bethany's eyes darkened. "I would only wish that on them if our plans succeed."

The happy mood all but destroyed, Hawke searched for a lighter topic of discussion. "What do you think she'll look like? Would she be short, like the dwarves, or taller, like humans?"

"Oh! Maybe she'll be shorter than you, but taller than Varric." Bethany's smile returned and her eyes sparkled again.

The siblings fell back into excited chatter, Bethany thrilled with the thought of a little one coming into the world soon. Before Hawke took her leave, she reminded Bethany that there was a room at the estate with her name on the door whenever she wanted to come home. They hugged again and Hawke wound her way out of the Gallows, Templar Kerran escorting her across the waters to the docks.

Her pants were already beginning to feel too tight at the waist and hip, and she sighed heavily to herself. It would be all too soon that she would have to sheath her daggers for an unknown duration and rely on her friends for protection. Hawke's new political position did nothing to put her mind at ease. She slipped through the door of the Hanged Man to find Varric sitting with most of the usual gang at a table near the bar, cheating his way through cards.

Hawke walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest appreciatively. "Welcome back, Hawke," he intoned happily.

"I can't believe you didn't come beating down Bethany's door," Hawke smiled.

Varric shrugged with nonchalance. "Didn't need to. I know you need to spend a little time with your sister. Sunshine isn't spreading anymore terrible, pornographic stories to her apprentices again, is she?" he grinned, turning his head to face her.

"You know full well who slipped those _free_ copies into the library at the Circle," Hawke playfully scolded. "With a book like _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_, who else could have done something so atrocious?"

Varric laughed heartily. "Okay, I admit, I _might_ have given some free copies to some people…" Fenris was busy arguing with Isabela over her cheating hand, and Varric took advantage of their distraction to kiss Hawke without worry to his own defeat.

"Do you think you could tear yourself away from such a rousing game of Wicked Grace and such boisterous company for the evening?" Hawke asked playfully.

"Oh, but, Beautiful, I'm winning!" Varric teased.

Hawke's eyes flashed with a look that spelled trouble for Varric. Sweet, delicious trouble. "Then I guess I'll just have to convince you to come to the estate with me."

Varric promptly forgot what he was doing when Hawke's lips met his. He dissolved into a silly, horny mess when she did things like this, and he could never resist her. She pulled away, leaving the dwarf with a goofy grin on his face. He stood, saying, "I fold. Sorry, guys. But Hawke and I have some very _pressing_ business to take care of."

"I bet it's a very _hard_ subject to discuss," Isabela chimed in gleefully.

"It will take a while to _flesh_ things out," Hawke smirked.

"Ooh, good one!" Isabela complimented. "You two lovebirds get on out of here before I have to drag you up to my room and give you a tongue lashing for being so dirty." Isabela winked lewdly. Fenris faced her, his expression bewildered. "What?" she asked.

Fenris sighed heavily. "Enjoy your evening, Hawke, Varric. I will try to contain her… enthusiasm."

Hawke laughed and rolled her eyes. Even Fenris, for all his smoldering good looks, could not tame the flirt in Isabela. She and Varric bid the group adieu then made the trek to Hightown. Hawke had Orana bring up a simple supper to her bedroom, which she and Varric happily dined on as they talked.

"So, what was it that was so important you needed to talk to me?" Varric asked, stuffing a roll in his mouth.

Hawke giggled at the sight of his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk before explaining her visit with the Seeker, and the need for Varric's expertise in securing something of a treaty with the Chantry and the Divine. He promised Hawke all the help he could round up.

Orana returned after a time to clear the dishes. With the meal cleared, Hawke lay on the bed languidly.

"I told Bethany; she's rather excited. Said she hopes we'll have a girl," she said, her wistful tone breaking the amicable silence that had stretched between them. Varric was lying with his ear pressed to her abdomen, like he was hoping to hear the baby kick or move. Hawke ran her fingers lovingly through his hair.

"I figured you would," Varric said softly, a bemused look on his face. "I think you'd like having a daughter to teach your crafty ways." Varric's smile fell when he added, "I'm gonna have to bump up security big time. We'll be beating boys off like dogs."

Hawke laughed. "We didn't exactly discuss when we were going to tell everyone, but I don't always know when I'll see Bethany next. Of course," a grin crept onto her lips, making Varric raise an eyebrow in curious expectation, "I imagine I'll be seeing as little of her as possible for a while."

"Oh? Do tell. You know I love good gossip."

Hawke playfully slapped Varric's arm. "You're such a rumormonger," she paused to laugh.

"I do like a good story. Is it something I can use for _Wicked Circle: Rage of the Templar_?" he grinned.

Hawke could do no more than laugh for several long moments. "That's what you've decided for the next one?" Varric winked. "I suppose so, but the exact details I will leave to your capable imagination. Just count on our dear friend Cullen being more involved."

"Indeed? That will make for an interesting book. But right now, my imagination could use a little hands on practice," Varric said, slowly moving up the bed, lying atop Hawke to kiss her. "Let me hear you scream my name, Beautiful," he whispered before she succumbed to the pleasure of him.


End file.
